Screw the silence, Bring the noise
by Remora .Hack
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing exept Margaret Deluge. 'Nuff said. RR, and bring on the pain. (sorry for the letdown, but STSBTN is back!)
1. Prologue

(--Prologue--)  
  
11436 Sanguine Rd.  
  
She watched from her living room window for the mail carrier, not that she would get any real mail in the first place. Probably just bills again. Or maybe Zachary. Not that it mattered. She would not get back together with that moron if he paid her to. Actually, his new Mitsubishi looked nice, she might be able to weasel it out of him for a kiss. She visibly shivered at the thought. She peered through her ankle-length black hair at the mailman who had just pulled up, for the green-eyed atheist didn't have anything better to do. She did not like cutting her hair, because the thought of willingly taking yourself apart was not something that appealed to her. The postal worker was actually somewhat cute, for a minimum wage sucker.  
  
She waited for the paper-pusher to leave, then she brushed her hair (it took a while), put on a long black dress, fed her cat, a tabby named Chaser, and went out into the snowy streets. There was no wind, thank goodness, for the tall, pale 19-year old girl disliked the wind. It had also stopped snowing for a while. She pried open the rusty green mailbox with her inch-long garbage-brown fingernails (those talons of hers were the pride of her life and she hasn't been able to break those perfectly straight finger-knives yet, so she wasn't worried)  
  
She reached in, groping around inside the mailbox for her letters.  
  
"OUCH!"  
  
She quickly withdrew her hand, blood dripping from a hole in the palm that went all the way through. She wasn't averse to pain, indeed she enjoyed it sometimes. Scars were a thing of beauty, something to be admired. But this strike had been so quick, and powerful it had surprised her, which wasn't an easy thing to do. She reached in again, ignoring the cuts and scrapes of rusty nails in the box, pulling out letters from three weeks before.  
  
"Bills. Bills. Bills. yeah, yeah."  
  
She rewrote the address on the envelopes to her father's address, since he paid her bills. She didn't have a job, and didn't care. As she sifted through the letters, keeping her sore palm away from them, she saw one of the letters were leaking something. Blood. Her blood. Now she was intrigued. She dumped the rest of the letters on the ground, and opened the blood-soaked one.  
  
Dear Margaret Deluge,  
You have been given an all-expense-paid  
trip to Silent Hill by Zachary Priest! A  
car will come to pick you up at 12:30 AM  
on the Saturday following the day you read  
this message!  
  
"Weird." 


	2. The Long Way Home

(--Chapter 1: The long way home--)  
  
*click*  
  
She opened the door and went inside, almost tripping over Chaser. She sat down on the couch and read the letter again, smirking.  
  
"So Zachary wants to get me into some hotel room in the middle of nowhere, via vacation?"  
  
Funny. He was always a little shy when she knew him. She scratched Chaser's head as she thought about Zack. Quite shy actually. Practically ran and hid whenever he was near a girl without Monroe around. The only reason she dated that 2-shoed tie-wearing little idiot nerd was to get near Monroe in the first place. Monroe was the Smart, savvy kid in the fourth row, three seats back. Next to Margaret. God, she hated her name. Made her sound like some. some. something anyway. Most people called her Deluge. Not that she was exactly popular. In fact, she hadn't really had any friends in high school. Not that she cared.  
  
Damn, getting off topic. What was she thinking about? Oh, yeah. Zack. He didn't seem to be the type to actually ask a girl out on a trip, unless someone goaded him into it. Of course, she knew he was rich. Or his dad was rich anyway. Probably asked him for money. His dad was actually somewhat nice. Got me a new sofa for going out with his kid. It was a nice sofa too.  
  
Off topic again. Why did she do that? Her mind wandered off so often she wondered sometimes if it would come back with pizza and souvenirs for everybody.  
  
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V  
  
(--Saturday afternoon--)  
  
She might as well get ready. She finally woke up, made some sense of order with her black-dyed hair, and ate a pop tart. Fudge. disgusting. And people wondered why she stayed so thin. The hole in her hand wasn't healing. In fact, it was just getting swollen and grotesquely purple, the veins around it bulging and throbbing like they were actually working in reverse. Strangely enough, it was not bleeding either. She wrapped some gauze around it and used some Neosporin. She spent another hour and a half getting ready, putting on another black dress, painting her nails black, and braiding her hair, which took another hour and a half. As soon as she finished braiding, she used it to tie a quick noose, which she slipped around her leg to keep it from dragging in the dirt and grime of the suburbs. She grabbed her walkman and headphones, and sensed something missing. What was it?  
  
"My hat."  
  
She'd had it since she was three. She was a witch for Halloween that year, but she never got any candy. As if it mattered. No one really celebrated in the Sanguine street Cul-de-sac. She never really got around to throwing it away. Cat woman, age 4? Witch hat, No candy. Super girl, age 5? Witch hat, No candy. Bride of Frankenstein, age 6? Witch hat, No candy. It had sentimental value, sort of. A testament to an atheist's treatment, maybe? Whatever. It still looked good with her ensemble. She put it on, and grabbed a stun gun from her shelf of knives in case Zack didn't want to play nice. That two-pronged electrical wonder did come in handy sometimes. Goths that got a little too bloody, homeless people or just people in general. She also grabbed her favorite ornamental knife, a nine-inch wonder with a serrated blade and rat skulls on the cross-hilt and pommel. If Zachary did not get the point, he soon would.  
  
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V  
  
(--Saturday Night--)  
  
The only reason for the morbidity of her style was to keep people freaked long enough to leave her alone as she passed them by. She waited in her living room for the cab, or bus, or whatever would show up. The driver might be cute. Cuter than Zack, anyway. While she waited she checked for split ends, or tightened her weave, which was the only reason her hair reached her ankles.  
  
She stuck the sheathed knife in her noose's knot, to hide it from inspection. Most tourist towns have a pat-down service anyway. The stunner easily fit into her pocket. She had to admit, looking into the mirror, that she looked hot. No wonder Zachary wouldn't give up on her.  
  
*Beep*  
  
It was an old truck. Some rusty Toyota without tags. No, wait. There were license plates but they were so orange with rust it looked like a part of the truck. The driver was bundled up against the cold, wearing a Sherlock- style hat and gigantic glasses. Trench coat. Big trench coat with gloves. Scarf so big I couldn't even see his face. I noticed my hand was bleeding a little, and I tightened the bandage. Not a friendly looking guy, but apparently my driver for the night. Yeesh, 16 hours with no snacks and only this guy to talk to. I should have brought a snack. 


	3. Watch Where you look

(Yes, I know that the last paragraph was in first-person. It was meant to be, so I could take this thing where I want it to go. Some things will be in first person, and some will be in third. Bear with me, okay?)  
  
(--Saturday night, Nathan Avenue--)  
  
I got in on the passenger's side, the whole while trying to see the driver's face. After five minutes of driving, however, he finally put a hand up in front of my face. I guessed that meant, 'stop it,' so I turned my attention to the road rushing by us. My hand was bleeding a bit more now. The bandage was getting soaked through.  
  
"Hey, you got any band-aids or something? Like gauze or... something?"  
  
he didn't answer, but pointed to the dashboard. I guess he was a mute... or a mime. I opened the drawer and saw a dirty dishrag, a few odd paperclips, some masking tape, a poster of some cowboy, torn denim strips, and a handgun. An actual six shot. No bullets though. Well, actually there was two bullets left. I grabbed the cloth and masking tape and made another makeshift bandage out of it. I asked what to do with my old one, but he didn't answer. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the road. He didn't even stop at the signs, but there was no one around, so I guess it was alright. I took a nap.  
  
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V (--Saturday night, Nathan Avenue--)  
  
I woke with a jolt.  
  
"Waugh? Whereas... where... oh yeah."  
  
Nothing had changed from my surroundings before, and after I recovered from my initial identity crisis, I settled back down again. I guess we had just hit a rock or... whatever. My mute chauffeur didn't seem to have noticed my forty winks, but from the signposts we were getting close to the resort town. What a weird name. What a weird location. For that matter, what a weird driver!  
  
Zack could have done better than this guy. Not that Mr. Mouth-stitched-shut- silent wasn't nice. I hadn't forgotten the cloth for my hand. But it was getting to be annoying, having no one to bug. It was getting somewhat foggy out there. The mist was mixing with the snowfall to make the road almost invisible. The road clearing vehicles hadn't even come this way yet apparently. What was creepy though, was that the driver didn't even seem to notice.  
  
Actually I could hear him humming the tune to 'Oh, Susannah' so I guess he wasn't mute at all. The mist got thicker and thicker, though, until it frosted on the windows and seemed to form a solid wall. But we were still on the road, since I could feel no bumps yet. The only explanation I had for this was that the driver had been this way hundreds of times, so it was like second nature to him.  
  
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V  
  
(--Saturday night, Nathan Avenue, Silent Hill, three hours later--)  
  
I looked up from the brochure I had been reading, wishing I had brought a pillow, or a watch, or something. The front of the car was almost indistinguishable from the snow surrounding it. Where there wasn't frost on the old Toyota, there was rust. I looked over my shoulder, into the truck bed, being devoid of anything to do. There was an ancient tarp in the back.  
  
*Thump-thump* *Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...* *Crsh* *Smsh-crsh-bmpbmpbmpbmpswizzzzzzzzzzzzzcrsh*  
  
The moment I had peered around, the car nailed something, sending me flying through the back window, which was open. I landed softly in snow, and was okay. I wasn't so sure about the driver though. As I watched, the car went front-over-rear fender and was doing cartwheels in the air, finally landing in some trees. The tree broke, probably dead wood anyway, sending the car rolling down a hill into a small lake. It broke the ice on it and disappeared under the waters. I didn't curse aloud as a rule, but sometimes there are places where no other words apply.  
  
"Holy sh*t!"  
  
I got up, grabbed my had from where it lay, and ran over to where the truck was, hoping for the driver to be all right. I reached the lake, but then remembered that I couldn't swim. I didn't have to it turned out, because there was a quick fountain of water from underneath the still surface, evidently from the car exploding. I don't know how it did it underwater, but then again, I'm not a mechanic. 


	4. No License, No Permit

Thank you for the '1' review, and Tillipin, you've no idea.  
  
Ch4--No License, No Permit. (--Nathan Avenue--)  
  
She sat back down there in the snow, still clasping her near-ancient witch hat, wondering what had caused the truck to go like that. Just her luck. Her first real vacation in three years, and it had to be Zachary giving her a one double-bed hotel room with a drunk paranoid mime whose only known talent was to whistle 'oh Susannah' while driving through a solid wall of fog as a chauffer. Now she was stranded in the middle of nowhere with only one one-way road to follow, and god-knows how many miles to go. Great. She sighed as she got up again, and put her hat back on. At least she still had her tape player, and it did have an AM/FM switch. She flipped it to WEBN and put on her headphones. Just static. What was wrong with this thing? Surely she wasn't that far from civilization. And she didn't even bring a tape to listen to. What foresight, she thought bitterly. She grumbled as she walked along Nathan avenue, trying to find a local channel.  
  
Unknown to her, the swamp was bubbling red, and bodies were floating to the surface behind her. V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V (--Nathan Avenue, three hours later--)  
  
This was ridiculous. Zach had better have booked me a nice place. I'd been walking for ten years at least. My tape player's clock says only three hours, but it felt like a decade. I can't believe I hadn't seen any cars other than my mime's. this was supposed to be a 'booming' resort town. That's what the brochure said anyway. It had a whole map of the town and everything. I took it out and flipped through it, trying to find if I was even headed in the right direction.  
  
"Nathan ave... heading north? Which way is north? Alright... hold on."  
  
I knew there was a way to tell if you had a clock. Couldn't remember what it was though. It felt like I was going in circles, which was stupid because the road went straight. I put the brochure away and kept walking. It was about this time that my stomach started talking to my spine about a snack.  
  
*BweepBweepBweep*  
  
A car alarm? Here? I broke into a run, hoping I'd reach the observation deck before whoever set it off left. There were flashing yellow-and red lights in the distance, and the car alarm was still going on. The fog was so thick I couldn't see how close it was though. Wonderful. I would probably run headlong into a well-known car-thief, and then get tagged by the police for being an accomplice. This was bull. A catch-22 is all I needed at this moment. Screw it. If it's a car thief, I'll nail him with the stun gun and drag him to the police. If not, I'll stun him and... well alright. Maybe I won't stun him. I pulled the stunner out of my pocket and continued running to the car, which was still 'bweeping'. The lights weren't getting any closer, so I wasn't sure if I was even going anywhere! I decided to bring the guy to me instead.  
  
"Hey! Anyone there? Help!"  
  
The alarm immediately stopped. Of course I didn't really need help, unless it was a car ride, but it was all I could think of to shout at that moment. What answered were a lot of mumblings, slurpings, and other odd sounds. The hole in my hand was bleeding again, yeesh! I was going to need a new bandage. The odd sounds were now accompanied by shuffling noises, like uneven slimy feet against pavement. 


	5. Inaudibility

(Review replies: Rodarian, as soon as possible. Don't kill me. Raven, thanks for the input, but if you could tell me where I could work on it, I would be much abliged!)  
  
____________________________________________________________________________ ________ --Restrooms, Nathan Avenue--  
  
All around her was a shuffling, scraping noise as if whatever it was dragged a gigantic piece of twisted iron and steel. As she listened she self-consciously took off the bandage, and began reaching for the stunner in her pocket.  
  
The sounds were growing louder, and despite herself Deluge was getting a little scared. It didn't sound like just one person/thing anymore, is was more like an echo of a thousand low moans and creaking hinges. Somehow she just didn't feel one zap would be enough.  
  
Should she proclaim weakness, or declare financial problems? The latter would be more truthful, and they might take her at her word. But the former would be more likely to let their guard down, and she doubted that they would be very concerned with money. Probably both.  
  
"I have no money! Please don't hurt me!"  
  
Almost as soon as the words were spoken, the fog lifted and the noises stopped. It was almost as if it had all been in her head from the start. It must have been the walk, or maybe the fog was playing tricks with her head. It didn't matter anyway. What she needed was some heat, and right in front of her was a car. She didn't have a license to drive, but she didn't plan to tool around in a beat-up rusty blue car of unidentifiable nature anyway. The car door was open, and a light snow had collected on the floor. It would melt soon enough. ____________________________________________________________________________ _________  
  
I slid into the drivers seat, and hoped whoever it was left the keys. They had. I turned the start-thingy and let the warmth of an engine wash over me as I leaned the seat back.  
  
"YEUURGK!!!"  
  
The back seat wasn't exactly clean. Spilled pop, stinking garbage, tinfoil wrappings of a half-eaten subway with extra mold, hold the mustard. Used underwear and bad cologne made for an attractive perfume of eau de disgusting. I immediately sat up in the chair and covered my nose. The stench was awful! Did he leave a pet skunk in the car? No, that was a sock drenched in soot. Why, I don't know, but if I didn't lean back I couldn't really smell it.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________ _________  
  
She didn't really know how long she stayed in that smelly, rusty, and dented vehicle, but she supposed it was all night. It was 9:00 AM when she got out, and she was feeling pissed. The sleep in the car had been uncomfortable as all hell, and the stick shift was getting intensely personal. Not being able to lean the seat back had been worse, as she couldn't do so without taking in that stench.  
  
The fog had cleared up a little at least, but the main road that she had been following had become blocked by an odd, makeshift wall with a door that was rusted shut to it. She would need oil for it, and she didn't intend to take the scenic route to the gate's right. She had been walking long enough. Whoever owned the car wouldn't mind if she emptied his oil tank. 


End file.
